Hell had been dingy and old since the day it was new, and there was nothing to be done about that. If anyone managed to ignore or get used to it, something would go wrong to ensure that they all stayed miserable. It was best, then, to always be at least a little downbeat about the grime or moldy stench around you.
None of that, as far as Dagon was concerned, meant you had to be sloppy. Her files were meticulous, her desk was clear, and her office was as clean as it could safely be.
At least, it had been for thousands of years.
Over the last several days, her office had been filled with precarious mountains of stone tablets, scrolls, and paper files. Every time she grabbed something, the masses would shake until she desperately steadied them again.
From where she was hidden within the mess, Dagon growled, "I'm going to kill him."
"I would hope so," Beelzebub said, dully, as ze slouched deeper and readjusted the clipboard. The failed apocalypse had added dozens of forms to zir already overwhelming workload as Hell tried to regroup. The world not ending didn't mean there would be extensions, after all.
"Do you have any idea how much I have to comb through?" she asked, her tone as aggressive as her note taking. "He's been ruining his paperwork for thousands of years! He deserves to be strung up and-"
"Because he killed a duke? Horribly, with holy water? And betrayed all of Hell by hiding the Antichrist and stopping the war?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Dagon said, in a way that made it clear she knew which one was supposed to be more important even if she didn't agree.
"Just checking." Beelzebub thought for a while as ze continued to write, and finally said, "It's a shame we can't just kill him."
"Don't worry about it. I've already worked out how to fit it into the torturers' schedules," Dagon said, helpfully. "A century or so of agony won't affect productivity."
"That's not what I meant."
"I can't see anyone trying to intervene. Definitely not for Crowley of all demons." She peeked her head up to look over the files. "Unless you think it's not bad enough? I'm sure we could open up a spot in-"
"Everything we could do to a demon has been done for less. A lot less. Killing and torturing him won't mean anything to the population if all the horde sees is routine suffering." Beelzebub's pen dug into the paper a bit harder. "This needs to be memorable. And, most importantly, vizzzible."
"So what do we need to do?" Dagon asked as she went back to her sorting. "We've never had to make anything mean anything before."
"That's what I'm trying to-"
"We could have a trial."
The pair looked over to find Hastur in the doorway. He'd been in a deep brood since he'd returned to Hell and hadn't said much of anything while he waited for a new corporation. Now he was bold, or uncaring, enough to interrupt a demon lord.
Beelzebub's eyebrows rose slightly to demand an explanation without having to admit ze had no idea what that was.
"It's a human invention. Very popular," Hastur explained. "A prosecutor says the evidence against the criminal, a jury decides guilt, and a judge passes down the vengeance."
"Sounds promising. Anything else to it?" Dagon asked.
Hastur tried to remember the few court proceedings he'd intruded on. And, even more, he thought about the court shows he'd caught glimpses of. "There are chairs. People say 'objection' a lot. And there's someone to defend the-"
Her lip curled distastefully. "Does there really need to be?"
"I can't see why."
"Then I think it sounds perfect," she said, and ducked back behind her paperwork for a moment before coming back up. ''What will we use once he's guilty?"
The three took a moment to think over all of the horrible punishments they'd ordered and inflicted over the centuries, and systematically dismissed each one. Nothing was fitting or brutal enough to quell the rage that Hell collectively felt.
Nothing except…
Hastur and Dagon looked at one another.
"It's too hard to get," she said.
"Too dangerous to handle," he added.
"Unless..."
They both looked expectantly at Beelzebub, who seemed even more melancholy than normal.
Ze took a moment to sigh. "Hastur, have your forces construct the space. We need a window with it for the audienze. Dagon, find me something that can hold water."
"How much?"
"As much as you can manage." Ze got up with resignation. The flies seemed equally reluctant to rise up. "I have a call to make."
"Lord Beelzebub," Dagon began. She stood up, and raised a placating hand. "Let's think about this. Angels are-"
"Does Crowley deserve it?"
One of the piles of falsified documents fell and scattered on the floor.
"Get to work, then," Beelzebub said as ze strode out of the office.
Hastur left without a word, though Dagon hadn't expected or particularly wanted him to. There was too much work to be done cleaning up as much as was possible.